Cornrows
Today was not the greatest of days. I had a bunch of chatterboxes in my morning classes, I got bad news from home in the middle of the day, and my afternoon classes were unattended. I am exhausted because my sleep cycle is all kinds of messed up [I can’t seem to pass out before midnight and I’ve been waking up sometime in the 5 or 6 o’clock hour for the past three weeks]. This evening as I was preparing to leave the dar chebab and go home to shower, wash my hair, curl up with The Wretched of the Earth and pass the eff out—but my plans were interrupted by a phone call.
+ Nejma?
- Yes. Who is this?
+ Fatima.
- Fatima who?
+ Fatima.
A couple more rounds of this. Mind you, Fatima is a name that has the popularity of all the Ashleys, Brittanys, and Sarahs combined. Nearly everyone is a Fatima or Fatima-Zahra.
- Aziza’s daughter?
+ Yes.
Some more confusion but I assume they want me to go to their house.
Change of plans. Shower will wait. I go to their house.
Background:
How do I know these people?
One day I was waiting for a bus and two little girls came up to me and told me that their mother wanted me to go to their house. Who is their mother? No idea. Who are they? No idea. I tell them I need to make this bus or find some other way there but tell them where I live so they can find me later.
The next day I return to my house with two volunteers and who do we find waiting at my house but these two girls. We five make our way to their house and sure enough I have NO idea who their mother us. But she gives us coffee and tea, bread and olive oil and honey, and even store bought sweets. Apparently she saw me on the street and thought I was pretty (can’t make this stuff up) and she told her daughters to find me and bring me to the house. If that’s not proof of how small my town and that everyone knows who I am, is I don’t what else will do it for you…
It was a pleasant visit and eventually my friends and I make it back to my place and a few minutes later the girls return to give us their mother’s phone number and to get ours.
That was about two weeks ago and that was the last time I had seen them until today.
Today
I was actually really exhausted when I arrived at their house but I was a really good sport. I had about 5 cups of tea and a lot of bread and I was about to make my move when Aziza started doing Aywa’s hair. She has three daughters, Bouleka-12, Fatima-8 and Selwa-5 and a son that’s 10… or something like that.
She was cornrowing it. I was intrigued. So I cozied up next to her and watched her do a row. Then I asked her if she was doing the littlest one’s head too, and she said she was. And I asked if I could do it—and she let me.
I was… elated. I was dead ass tired but I was SO happy.
I learned how to cornrow on a Barbie’s head. That’s all of one square inch of head so not much to work with. I don’t think I ever tried to braid either of my two younger sister’s hair. It’s not really their style.
I, on the other hand, used to get my hair cornrowed all the time. Do I ever know the pain of comb making a straight part, or a comb (and not a hot comb!) trying to go through really thick hair, (struggling may actually be a more accurate word choice, lol). Do I ever know the pain of having your hair pulled as tight as it can to make perfectly clean rows of neat little braids. Do I ever know the crick of the neck, the restlessness of being still, pain of the back, the pain of the ass from sitting on pillows your weight makes thin from sitting too long…
But today was different.
Today I was the one sitting on the high pillows. Today I was the one who had a little girl between my legs who was doing her best not to squirm. And really she was a trooper. But I know what hurts, and how it hurts, so I knew how to lessen her discomfort. How to hold her hair so I could yank and pull the shit out of it and she wouldn’t feel much, if anything. For all the hours, months, of my life I have spent on the floor, cushions, and similarly uncomfortable seating, today was the first time I saw the experience from the other side.
And I kind of really wanted to cry.
I was so happy.
A pureness of emotion so rarely felt.
I remembered when I was in Abidjan and my host cousin had me on some pillows on the upstairs deck and she put the teeniest tiniest cornrows I have ever had in my head… and it took forever because that was when my hair was halfway down my back.
I remembered when I was getting extensions added to my cornrows in 2006 before I went to Istanbul and… I remembered how unhappy I was because it took a really long time because it was done in two levels and I only asked for cornrows so it would be over quicker (lol). I happened to have my computer with me and almost showed them pictures but I wasn’t sure if I was dressed too… not conservative enough so I decided to leave it alone.
I remembered sitting in my mom’s room and not being able to watch the tv because my head was forced down or in some other awkward position that let me only hear.
I remembered most often that thing on television I couldn’t view being the news or something like 60 minutes. And today that was an especially touching memory because we were watching the news.
Before today I had never cornrowed anyone’s hair before. Ever.
Sitting next to a mother braiding her child’s hair… maybe it’s just something about that relationship, mother and daughter, and all the familiar roles I have played in that scenario—I was indescribably moved that I was allowed to be a part of this ritual.
And indeed it is a ritual. You have to get ready for the school week, for camp, for whatever… for life. There are many many rules black hair, but perhaps the most important is that you cannot let just anyone in your hair [and if I had heeded that, I probably would not have had to cut mine all off(!!)…] and I was allowed into that trust. I was allowed in because I wanted to participate. Because I asked. I don’t think I’ve ever asked before. I don’t think I ever had anyone to ask before. And that’s kind of sad.
But right now, I’m exhausted. And really happy. And feeling incredibly fortunate.
On Sunday I am returning to do the twelve year old’s hair and eat dinner with the family.
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